


Flight of Fancy

by Lightspeed



Series: Monstrous Intent [21]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Anal Sex, Body Horror, Deepthroating, Double Penetration, Faun!Scout, Fauns & Satyrs, Garuda - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Oral Sex, Rimming, Spitroasting, Transformation, Vomiting, Wings, Wizards, garuda!Medic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2387279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medic has never been one to take criticism lightly, nor constructively, preferring trial and error to unsolicited advice.  This can be a frustrating failing of character under normal circumstances, but when the magic of summoning creatures from other parts of the world is concerned, the consequence of stubbornness can be rather cage-rattling.</p><p>(rimming tag is present simply because the act is mentioned)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Medic narrowed his eyes, concentrating as he carefully arranged tiny flower petals atop a small sweet cake which sat at the centre of a chalked-out circle. He held his breath, and leaning back, slowly released it. "That should be everything," the doctor-cum-magus mumbled, checking his work.

Spy furrowed his brow. Medic's runes were atrocious, a jumbled mess of barely-coherent squiggles. He hadn't thought about it before, but the fact that terrible physician-standard handwriting carried over between medicine and magic brought forth a chuckle that struggled to escape his throat. He allowed it a smirk, and tamped down the urge, along with the desire to lean over to Scout beside him and mutter something to similar effect.

Pyro must've noticed Spy's expression, elbowing him. He saw it too. Medic needed to graduate away from circle magic as soon as he could, else there could be disastrous results. Plus, learning from Merasmus was, in itself, unwise. Sure, his alchemy was strong, and he could enchant an item like no-one's business, but the man could barely conjure, and relied on that bomb book rather than actually bother to perfect his upper-circle evocations, no matter how much of a master evoker he claimed to be. A hack, really.

Undaunted by smudgy handwriting, Medic looked again to the smallish summoning tome he'd purchased from the wizard, double-checking his words before beginning. He held his hands over the circle and, licking his lips, began to work. He felt the air thicken about him as he reached out to the aether, opening his mind and grasping at the immaterial arcanum that flowed through everything. It was the first thing he'd learned to do, the one thing that came readily to him, and Medic had wondered if this was a gift he naturally bore, but the power to sense the presence of magic was as simple to him as being able to sense the pressure of the air just before a storm. He guided the ambient magic about him with gestures of his hands, working carefully to coax it into the circle and manifest in motes of azure, a soft glow beginning to gather both at his fingers and around the outer line of his chalk scrawlings. The vibrant blue grew in strength, in intensity, as it filled the circle and soaked into the fairy cake at its centre.

Sniper had offered this sort of treat to the tiny faeries he'd beckoned forth to have their way with Medic months ago, wakening the doctor to entirely new experiences and spurring his interest in the supernatural. He'd been making love to a myth for a year already by that point, unaware of Heavy's jotun lineage simply because he'd not bothered to ask, but Medic was a man of curiosity, and things magical and mystic had piqued him, perhaps as much as his interest in liaisons with the denizens of fable and folklore. It seemed foolish and dangerous to mimic Sniper, to go out and look for trouble well out of the comfortable safety net of respawn. Why go to the mountain when you can bring the mountain to you?

Medic intoned the spell verbals, ancient syllables even he barely understood, his voice cracking with excitement, shaping the spell with twists of hand and finger, spelling out the somatics with expert skill.

Pyro gripped the table, watching intently. There was no doubt the doctor was a natural, aside from his writing. To the eyes of all, the blue glow concentrated on the cake, draining out of the circle until the component was the only place it collected. The firebug tilted his head to the side, concerned. The tell-tale vibrations and planar shift of a summoning were missing, instead leaving only a heavy arcane hum. The spell hadn't worked right because of the flawed circle. He watched the pulses of aether ripple out from the motes of azure, sending a prism-spray of oranges and greens into the air. The spell was going wild, concentrated without proper direction.

None could see the arcane hemorrhage but Pyro, waiting with anxious interest as the magic began to sputter and wane. No one was bothering to try, leaving the firebug the lone observer of the surge as Spy, Scout, and Sniper watched blindly, unable or unwilling to glimpse the glamour guttering around the failed spell. Medic could feel it, the spell pulling itself apart, growing hazy and unfocused. Something had gone wrong. Then, without warning, a spray of blue cinders ejected from the cake, and a pair of wings emerged from its icing. They were made of the icing; gossamer-thin strands of sugar stretched upward to mimic something like a dragonfly. Then the cake changed shape, fitting itself into the form of a tiny faerie curled up on its side, seemingly sleeping.

"What the hell is that?" Scout asked, leaning closer.

"It...is still a cake," Spy observed as blue lights fizzled out into the air, leaving the tiny figure laying still in its circle. He reached a gloved hand in, and gently pressed it to the little faerie's hip. It was spongy to the touch, still made of pastry, simply sculpted into the shape of the fair folk.

"I must have made a mistake somewhere," Medic muttered, re-checking his somatics and verbals to the tome at his side.

"Your handwriting sucks," came the muffled laugh from Pyro, who beheld the cake with utmost amusement. He'd managed to transmute in an attempt to conjure. For the doctor so obsessed with altering people to make them superior, with überhearts and his own regenerative capabilities, it was clear where Medic's strengths lay, arcane or mundane.

"Excuse me?" the doctor growled, offended.

"Your sigils aren't clear," Spy expanded, in an attempt to defuse the situation. Pyro could be childishly blunt when he wanted, and Medic's pride was sometimes woefully easy to wound. "It may be the source of your problem. Your shapes are fine, and your words and movements are perfect. It is simply a matter of your runework."

"So it's 'cause he's got that shitty doctor handwritin', isn't it?" Scout translated, Pyro nodding along.

Behind them, Sniper tried hard not to chuckle. The team knew how dismal Medic's writing could be, decipherable only to the mad doctor. They'd all seen his chalkboard notes, or the few times he'd bothered to write care instructions when they came to him with illnesses.

"It's kind of amazing this is the first time it's messed you up," Pyro resumed, wiggling his gloved fingers over the little cake.

Medic chewed at his lip. Frustrated, angered, and more than a bit put-upon by the gentle teasing of his coworkers, he carefully held back the pout he could feel building. He sighed through his nose, nostrils flaring, deigning not to mention previous flubbed cantrips and enchantments. His success rate had been more hit than miss, after all.

Pyro picked up the faerie cake, even more true to its name, and held it in one gloved palm. He held his other hand above it, and with slow, smooth motions, seemed to draw shapes in the air with his fingers as they curled and crossed and twisted into arcane gestures. Spy smirked down at him as he heard soft mumbles in long-dead tongues barely wheezing through the arsonist's filters. That hand lowered as a red and orange flash and flutter of lights gathered between his palms, blotted out as the gloves came softly together to cup the pastry. All eyes were on Pyro's gloves, and when he lifted his hand, he revealed a very living, flesh and blood faerie curled up carefully to avoid being squished by the heavy rubber gloves that had contained it.

The little faerie looked up, her little head turning this way and that, trying to understand where she was. Her wings spread open and flittered with a soft buzzing sound. Slowly, she rose to her feet in Pyro's hand, overlarge, solid-black eyes standing as an alien counterpoint to her marble-white flesh and short green locks.

"Pyro, how...?" Medic cut himself off as the faerie took flight, zipping up to Pyro's shoulder to press a tiny kiss to the cheek of his mask, then buzzing about the room excitedly before taking up a seat at one of the branches of Scout's antlers, swinging her legs merrily and petting the velvety skin that coated them.

The masked arsonist simply chuckled through his heavy filters and wiggled his fingers in the air. It was surprising how often he could get away with things if he just let them shrug it off. 'It's Pyro; best not to ask.' Beside him, Spy was practically rattling to pieces suppressing his laughter as Medic gaped, baffled.

"Heya there, little, uh, lady? I dunno Snipes do these kids have gender?" Scout asked, turning to his friend.

"Far as I can tell they really don't care what you call them so long as it's not an insult," the bushman shrugged, then addressed the faerie. He cooed something friendly to her in a tongue the faun didn't recognize, a language almost musical in its cadence. The little fae replied similarly, in a tiny voice like the tinkling of bells. The two held a short conversation before the gunman turned back to Scout. "She likes your antlers. Says she wishes more big folk had easy places to sit."

"That's so freakin' cute it hurts, holy shit," the faun replied, gently shaking his head with a soft laugh.

"Yes, well, if we are done here, perhaps you'd like to try and find a comfortable seat for your diminutive friend, Sniper? Scout and I have business to attend to and I'd prefer to not worry about accidentally crushing the poor dear to death if she ended up in the way," Spy interrupted coolly, placing a hand on the youngest mercenary's shoulder.

"Yeah, I dunno what little fae are into or anythin' but I doubt she wants a deer's eye view of me chowin' down on Spy's ass," Scout agreed, catching a vicious glare for his candor.

"Oh, yes, please, air all of my sexual proclivities." Spy crossed his arms over his chest, trying to mask his embarrassment with a heavy veneer of exasperation.

"Calm down, man! You act like there's an ass on this team I ain't had my tongue in! Exceptin' Pyro, 'a course," the faun countered with a laugh.

For his part, the firebug nodded and mimed doffing a hat to his taller friend, setting Scout to further chuckles.

"But of course," Spy muttered, watching as Sniper held his hand out for the little faerie to step into, the tiny figure prancing over his fingers and taking hold of his thumb to steady herself as she waved farewell to her fae brother and comfortable seat.

Scout waved in return, smiling to the tiny creature. "Hey Snipes, tell 'er I said thanks, okay? And sorry that I don't know how to speak any faerie languages."

"I'll 'ave to teach you sometime, mate. Hello, goodbye, where's the loo, that sort of thing," the bushman joked in return and shot his friend a farewell salute as he took Spy by the arm and led him out of the rec room.

Medic leveled his gaze on Sniper, Pyro, and the little faerie who were left behind. He chewed on his words a moment. "Anyone else have any commentary?"

"Your somatics are really good," Pyro shrugged, rounding the table to pat Medic on the back, reassuringly.

The doctor sighed. "Danke, Pyro." Defeated, he packed up his supplies. "If anyone needs me I will be in the infirmary licking mein wounds."

"Now that can't be sanitary," Sniper quipped, reeling back upon receiving a glare. Medic was not in a joking mood. "Er, sorry, Doc. Look, if you need anythin', I'll be around the rest of the evenin', yeh?"

"Ja, ja, danke. Just remember to get rest early tonight. We have an early match tomorrow; they're running a double shift, remember," Medic reminded, stopping in the doorway.

"You too, Doc. Get some sleep. And don't let it get to you."

Medic smiled a bit. "Danke."

 

*

 

"Dummkopf!" Medic snarled, regarding the chalkboard in his lab. His handwriting made perfect sense, scrawled in elegant loops and whorls over its surface, detailing the findings and notes of his latest experiment in truncated German. It was quick, but effective, hardly illegible and hardly anything to deter his arcane advances. He must have used the wrong sigils, or perhaps just hadn't prepared the material component correctly! It was a minor oversight, nothing more!

How in the hells had Pyro managed to do that, anyway? He hadn't drawn a circle, and barely whispered whatever he had, casting with an ease the German had never seen. Merasmus' spells were even clumsier than his, and it set Medic's mind to reeling as he pondered the meaning of such things. How had Pyro learned to do that? How long had he known how?

It certainly explained his tendency to summon flame and throw fireballs on the occasion, something no one had ever quite bothered to question.

It struck Medic as oddly ignorant that they'd not pursued it, having chalked it up to the mystery that was Pyro. What other secrets did he hold?

It was irrelevant now. Medic had other things to do, more important things to do. His summoning had left him cold and aggravated, but he would not be daunted. Striding into the surgery, he tugged his gloves free and laid them on a tray, throwing his coat over top of them. The furniture of the room, gurneys and tables, had been pushed against the walls, his machines and diagnostic devices confined to a corner and stacked carefully behind a cabinet for protection.

The floor was empty, save for a giant circle scrawled along the floor in a pasty mixture of powdered willow bark and sandalwood oil. Intricate runes interlaced the complex design, drawn in olive oil and bordered with fallen down from his doves. It was enormous, taking up nearly the entirety of the floor, and Medic growled quietly to himself as he beheld his handiwork. He'd spent the entire night before carefully, meticulously setting up the circle, but it had been worth it to see his results in the unclouded light of the dying day and more than a little coffee still pumping through his system.

He gathered the last of his supplies from the cabinet in the corner. A small velvet bag containing an unfertilized dove egg, three large feathers, a few silk-cotton tree flowers, and a dried, powdered snake skin, which Medic sprinkled in a circle before laying the other parts at the centre. He checked his work again, meticulous to the last. His circle was perfect. His components were perfect. His runework was beautiful, with smooth rounded shapes that complimented the circle they wove into.

Medic crossed to the outside of the circle, tugging his tie free to toss atop his coat as he went. He took a few deep breaths, steadying himself. It was time. He'd read about many different monsters, benevolent and malevolent, since his encounter with the little faeries in that field of flowers. He'd pestered Sniper and Demoman for their expertise, and even hefted a few nonchalant inquiries Merasmus' way when he went to patronize his business. He'd learned of a number of creatures that might fit his fancy. Avian humanoids, a blending of bird and person that piqued the doctor's interest. Harpies, kinnari, ekek, sirens, swan maidens, tengu, and many others, though most tended to be exclusively female, running counter to Medic's personal tastes. It was learning of the garuda, a class of creature all descended from a deity of the same name, that he'd found what he was looking for. Handsome bird folk, usually depicted as male, with varying rations of avian to human parts. Often they bore red wings with white bodies and heads in their feathers, though some were merely men with grand wings. It was a perfect marriage, he thought, particularly because his beloved pet doves provided some very easy to get components. Nevermind that garuda were typically of raptor descent, resembling the brahminy kite, the red-backed sea eagle, rather than the granivorous, comparatively timid doves the doctor kept.

He would call forth a garuda and proposition him for sex. It was as simple as that. Certainly less a waste of time and resources than traveling all the way to Southern Asia and then tracking one down to ask the same question.

Medic knelt at the edge of the circle, taking one last breath, and began. He began to chant in low tones, his voice even, his concentration great, as he beckoned forth the potent magics needed to craft the spell. He could feel the thickness of the air, the vibration of arcane energies begin to concentrate around him, around the circle, through the entire room, and being drawn toward the amateur conjurer as he spoke. His words were ancient, from before time was reckoned, from before words were real, syllables and hums and sounds working at extensions of reality, threads to tug, rather than actual communication. He splayed out his hands to either side, and began to work, gathering the energies before him with careful manipulations of those deft, surgeon's digits. He wove the aether into something substantive, azure light prickling into his sight as he continued his chant, as he knitted the magics with his hands and conducted it into realness. He could feel the pressure of the spell as it began to assemble itself, as it began to collide and spread and anchor itself to the circle, to the components, given shape and direction by his ministrations. The bright blues lit the room, outlining Medic's scrawlings upon the floor, pulsing with arcane life. He could feel the openings begin to stretch, the barriers between planes of existence growing thin and perforating as he reached between them to somewhere else in the world, bridging the gap with the liberal application of astral energy. He could feel those holes begin to form, reality growing thinner and thinner until it was a mere film over the hole which had grown, and as he finished his intonation, and stilled his hands, the runes lit up, nearly ablaze in a riot of azure, blazing bright and spitting motes of light into the air. The bridge roared shut, the holes closed before ever fully opening, the portal gone, and a gout of magic flooded up out of the circle and spilled out though the room, washing past Medic to collide against the walls and curl away out of existence. This left the circle glowing softly, but otherwise, nothing.

Medic could see the magic in the air, still heavy, still strong. He could feel it vibrating in his fingertips, in his arms, legs, and toes. It hummed against his lips and tongue, filling the room with a subtle, near-imperceptible buzz that was to Medic entirely disorienting.

"Was?"

What had gone wrong? He'd done everything right! His components fit within the parameters set out by the book! His circle was exacting, his verbals and somatics practiced and perfect! He looked to his runes, then flipped his book open. They looked so sharp, so square, so angular and kerned so far apart. Looking to his own, with their flowing, natural curves, he shook his head. He'd thought he was doing right, making his sigils more natural, more lovely. Maybe Pyro was right...

He stepped into the circle, squatting to examine one of the runes, to analyze exactly what he'd messed up. It was plain as day if he took the time to pull his head out of his verdammt arsch and properly look, and he felt a pang of shame that he'd let his own bullheadedness about his handwriting waste a perfectly good spell. Now how to go about dismissing all of the magic?

He stood, wiping his hands on his pants with a sigh, and turned to leave the way he'd come, now tasked with checking his small library for a method of dispelling all of the ambient arcane energies that now choked the room like a thick, heavy steam. It was when the breeze of his boot's passing knocked a feather askew, however, that the magic did the work for him. Aether welled an angry blue, filling the room to blinding levels before crashing into the circle with a sound like thunder, sputtering lights into the air as the whole thing contained and concentrated the glow. Medic was caught in it, and he could feel the magic ripping into him like an icy breeze through layers of clothing.

There was heat, there was cold, there was darkness and vicious, vicious light. Medic's body thrummed, through every hair, every scar, every cell, feeling like it was being ripped apart and disassembled without a single touch of pain. He was being unmade, he was being remade, his voice loosed in a scream drowned out by the growl of the spell's surge of fury. He felt like he was going to burst from inside his own skull, all the while a vice grip like a giant curling it fist in around his limp form pressed in at him from all angles. It was when the air finally left his lungs and his voice died out that Medic fell unconscious, the awful blue gone a moment before he was.

 

*

 

Medic awoke with a start, laying on the ground in a heap, the rough sparks of magical fallout still crawling over his skin and arcing between body parts, making him wince. He sat up, or tried to, but had no hand to push himself upright, instead slamming a fleshy, feathered mess of a limb into the floor, his wrist aching under the pressure. His fingers felt tense, overextended, and as he tried to flex them, found them heavy. He looked down to see a wing where his arm should have been, pressing at its final large joint against the floor, quivering as he tried to move a hand that did not exist in the same way any longer. Red feathers ran along it, fading into white at his shoulder where his shirt had ripped away into shreds. He quickly realized his other arm was the same, and cried out in terror.

His voice loosed in the shrill screech of a bird of prey, and with some effort he turned his gaze down to see what looked like a beak standing where his nose would be, taking up his entire lower face. He clacked the thing and traced it with his tongue, shivering in horror and feeling tears well in his eyes.

A shock of blue, a moment of blackness, and Medic jolted awake again, not even knowing when he'd lost consciousness again. He flapped about, trying to right himself, and when he found his footing, perched upon hard, yellow flesh with sharp, black talons, he was not looking down from two meters above the floor, but three, maybe more. He flapped his wings helplessly, his tail feathers fanning out, his whole body puffing up in surprise and horror as he became keenly aware that he was now a giant eagle.

He sputtered about, trying to control his new body, trying to figure out how to move it, when another surge of azure left him standing nude at the centre of the circle, his body his own, perfectly intact, perfectly human, perfectly Medic. He stretched his arms and felt a weight along his shoulders and back, another stretch that mirrored the first. Looking up, he saw white wings arching overhead, extended fully toward the ceiling just as his human arms were, and barked out a yelp of surprise.

A wave of nausea came over him, and the arcane sputters that continued to wash over him came to a halt with a final, fading jutter. He watched in horror as his feet changed shape, becoming again sharp talons, hard and strong with black nails and feathers leading from just above his ankle up to his knee. His hands followed a similar fate, shod in the hard, keratinized corneum of a bird with hard, black nails that he imagined would probably grow into vicious claws if left unchecked. His palms and the pads of his fingers retained the softness of his human flesh, and from just above the wrist to his elbow, more white feathers covered his skin. The weight of those extra arms, those enormous wings, still extended from his back, stretched wide and flared out in his panic.

When it was done, the room's pressure returned to normal, the buzz of aether gone, replaced only with the queer sensation of having been magically restructured by a wild surge. Medic rushed to a nearby tray, snatching up a reflective piece of equipment and looking himself over. He was a wreck, his skin pale from the ordeal, his hair sticking up at all angles, his glasses bent by the fall and shifts in facial structure. He examined his wings, his hands, his feet, all clad in snowy white feathers, and felt them rise and prickle out as gooseflesh rose over his skin. The very real, very odd sensation of quills growing from his body hit him, and fresh nausea greeted him like an old friend. He dove for a sink, doubling over the thing as he emptied his stomach, eyes watering, sobbing as acid and pieces of his last meal retreated up and out through his mouth and nose in agonizing fashion. He pawed at the faucet before finding the handle he searched for, and threw the cold water on to wash it down, waiting a moment to see if any more would come before hurriedly washing his face and mouth and clearing his nose.

When he was satisfied, he turned the water off and leaned against the sink a moment, shuddering. It was at that point that he'd realized he hadn't blinked since he'd started cleaning up, and still had no need. Everything looked milky, murky, and even more unfocused than his bent spectacles would have him believe. He charged out of the surgery, headed for the mirror in the main room of the infirmary and taking up a spot in front of it. Sure enough, his eyes seemed to be covered in some sort of translucent film, somewhat fleshy in tone, and vascular. He regarded it, trying to figure out what it might be, squinting to be able to make out its detail. That's when it retracted, sliding away from each eye to hide, unseen, against his tear ducts.

"A nictitating membrane?" Medic mused. That certainly wasn't something he'd expected, but then, neither was transmuting himself into a white-feathered garuda, and here he was. He blinked normally, pleased that he could still do such things, then held his eyes open, concentrating. He wasn't exactly sure what it felt like to try and blink with a completely new eyelid, but he was certainly going to try. It took him several attempts and a few minutes of grunting that even he found rather funny, but when he'd succeeded, he let out a loud whoop of pride and a gleeful flapping of his great wings.

He needed to tell Heavy. He needed to tell the team. He needed to make sure to leave the part about failing a spell out when telling Pyro and Spy. But most of all, he needed to brush his teeth because he still tasted acid and was growing nauseated again as he caught wind of his own breath. One thing at a time, but oh what an exciting turn of events! He grinned gleefully and blinked both directions. Putting some trousers on might be a good idea, too.


	2. Chapter 2

"I worry about him. I know Doktor is intelligent man, smarter than me, but I know he is also..." Heavy hemmed, trying to find a gentle way to express his thoughts in English.

"Foolish? Impulsive? Scatterbrained? Hyperactive? Bloody barmy?" Sniper supplied with a laugh, kicking his heels up onto the giant's footlocker and relaxing back into his chair.

Heavy frowned, shifting in his seat on his bed. Sniper's words were accurate, if indelicate. Medic was a genius, but what he had in intelligence, he lacked in common sense. A fearsome combination of bullheaded foolhardiness and staggering intellect left the excitable German with tendencies toward destruction, be it self, others, or property. "Unwise," the half-giant supplied with a sigh, scratching at the back of his neck in thought.

"I understand, mate. Magic can be dangerous, scary. But the Doc's clever, and I've never seen a man play it by ear like 'e does. Suppose it's why 'e's so good at transmutin', since it requires a bit of malleability in the caster, from what I've been told," the bushman soothed, a warm smile on his lips. It was Heavy's nature to protect and dote on those he cared about. "Besides, we've got respawn if the worst occurs, and I can get 'old of Merasmus, so long as Soldier doesn't piss 'im off too much."

"You are right, but I worry. I hear stories of magics that take souls and curse generations, and it is not something to take lightly. Doktor takes everything lightly."

"I know one thing Heavy the doctor takes," Sniper teased, bringing a chuckle to the morose Russian.

"Am sorry to trouble you with such things, but you are man on team I know has most experience with such things without chasing them with sword like Demoman."

"Ahh Demo's all bark and no bite." Sniper tried to restrain his smirk at his own terrible joke.

"Am thinking he is much bite, judging by your neck, tiny Sniper," Heavy noted, craning his neck to indicate the ring of tooth marks around a bright hickey that peeked up just past the assassin's collar.

"Ah hell," Sniper groused, covering up the mark self-consciously.

"Is nice, you and Demoman. Strong emotion between you. Passion, hunger, romance. Remind me of self and Doktor when first we get together. The love we made almost shake base from foundations!" the giant chuckled, his grin lurid, remembering the nights when their love was new and he and Medic had spent so much energy exploring one another's bodies and making an absolute racket.

"There's a reason I slept in my van a lot in those days. Doc's a screamer."

"He is. It is beautiful."

Sniper chuckled fondly, Heavy's love-drunk smile far too endearing for a man capable of crushing his head in a single hand. "But, er, Demo and I, we're just friends, mate. It's not like--"

Sniper was halted by a crackle on the radio sitting in Heavy's flak jacket, slung over the back of the chair he occupied, buzzing in concert with his own radio in his pocket.

"Heavy, report to the infirmary, bitte," fizzled Medic's voice on the radio, barely restrained excitement in his tone.

"Is probably some new spell or invention. Come with me?" Heavy asked, beginning to rise.

Sniper shrugged. He had nothing else planned for the night. "Sure, why not?" He pulled himself to his feet and straightened his shirt, then motioned for Heavy to lead the way.  
  
*  
  
The door to the infirmary was unlocked, and pushing it open, the two mercenaries found the examination room empty of any life, save the fluttering wings and soft cooing of Medic's flock of doves roosting in the rafters. The door to the doctor's office, a room ostensibly reserved for storing paperwork and filing reports, but most often used for late night naps and restless research, lay open just a crack. The sound of Heavy's boots on the tile floor brought a light chuckle from the room, confirming it was where Medic resided.

Heavy and Sniper approached the door, the giant pushing it open with a merry greeting cut short by the scandalous sight before him. The giant's jaw dropped open.

Atop his desk, cleared of stationery and writing utensils and his ever-present stein he would fill with coffee each morning like it was a cheeky joke, lay Medic, naked save for his spectacles, having been bent back into shape. He reclined on his side, supporting his head with one hand, all but his palm and pads of his fingers shod in a rough, greyish pink, keratinous flesh which matched his feet, which hung off the desk at the ends of legs crossed at the knee and feathered from there down to above his ankles just as feathers ran from above the wrist to his elbows. He grinned lasciviously, one wing folded alongside himself, the other stretched upward luxuriantly, not quite spread fully, yet showing off his plumage with calculated efficiency. "And you said nothing good would come of mein magic, Schatz." His eyes were hooded, his flesh alluring, and upon seeing Sniper beside his lover, he yelped and dropped that stretched wing to cover his naked body, his cheeks and nose running red in an instant. "Oh, ah, hallo, Sniper. I did not know you were with mein Heavy," he mumbled, curling his legs up against himself and looking like he was trying to disappear into his own feathers.

"Doktor! What--what did you do?!" Heavy gaped, running up to his embarrassed lover, tilting his chin to face him with one giant hand.

Sniper couldn't help ogling a bit, the initial shock of seeing Medic in such a state quickly fading to appreciation for the doctor's new anatomy. His snowy white feathers, his enormous wings, the claws of his feet and dark fingernails. He was a sight to behold, though he found Medic's modesty more than a little funny. After all, this was a man he'd watched get laid by a host of tiny faeries. He lifted an eyebrow and quietly closed the door. If Medic could placate Heavy and he played his cards right...

"I am fine, mein Kuschelbär; relax, bitte. This is simply the result of a magical experiment. I have to admit, the upgrades are certainly appropriate, ja?"

"Experiment? Can you fix this?"

"Ahah, well, no. Not as of yet, but I have not bothered to try. I wanted to show you mein success first! After all, it is not often a man is gifted wings!" Medic tittered a bit with excitement, forgetting Sniper as he stretched out one wing and climbed onto his hands and knees on the desk, flaring them out to their full span, white wings dwarfing the doctor's body in comparison.

Heavy looked up in awe, "Do they work?"

"I can move them, but I have not yet attempted flight. They are strong, however, at least as strong as mein arms, but with more stamina. I can hold them up longer and more comfortably," Medic explained, giving his wings a few small flaps and enjoying the look of wonder on his lover's face. "Do you like it?"

"Am not sure," the giant replied, reaching out to gently stroke his hand along Medic's wing-wrist, eyes wide in wonder. "So soft," he marveled, stroking toward his shoulder where feathers gave way to warm flesh.

Medic hummed contentedly, enjoying the loving caresses, letting his membrane fall over his eyes and his lids droop.

"Doktor, your eyes."

Snapping open, Medic's membranes receded, and he looked to his lover sheepishly. "Ah, ja, mein eyes have a nictitating membrane now. A third lid, if you will," he explained, blinking with it.

"That is...please do not do that so much. Is...creepy."

"Of course, Schatz. But what do you think of everything else?"

"It does make sense for you. You look like angel, but like bird of prey, but also like dove. It fits well for you to be...eh..."

"A garuda," Medic clarified, leaning in to peck his lover's cheek.

"Da, a garuda. You are still my Doktor, and you are beautiful. Wings only show it more, though I will miss your handsome feet and thin ankles," Heavy admitted with a fond smile, tilting Medic's chin up to press their lips together, sighing as their mouths opened and tongues sought one another.

Medic moaned softly into Heavy's mouth, wrapping his arms around the giant's shoulders as his wings drooped and he melted into their kiss. He scooted closer, sitting on his rear toes and pawing at his enormous lover.

Sniper coughed, left feeling awkward but unsure whether he should leave as his teammates began to make out in front of him. He watched Medic the whole time, the shift and shiver of his wings and idle grasping of his talons as Heavy's hands came to rest on his ass and back, squeezing one while petting at the other, fingers caressing where feathers met flesh.

Heavy and Medic looked to their teammate, red-faced and shamed in their neglect of their companion. The garuda looked Sniper over, seeing the smirk on his lips, the way he slouched with his hips jutting forward, the bulge in his slacks, and grinned. Sniper was such a pervert, of course he'd get turned on by this! Medic was a monster, his Heavy half so. It stood to reason the bushman was enjoying the show.

Medic thought a moment before turning to Heavy. "We seem to have forgotten your companion, Schatz. It would be rude of us to go further with him standing there watching," he reasoned, putting on his best pout and practically hanging himself off of the giant.

He was the most transparent person on the planet. Heavy was sure he wanted something, but wanted to be sure exactly what. "What are you saying, Doktor?"

"It is no secret any longer that Sniper is a man of certain tastes. Tastes we now both fit very well," the garuda led, casting bedroom eyes to the bushman, who perked up in hope. "We have shared a bed with a third party before, many times with Scout. Is there any chance we could invite our freund for some fun?"

Heavy shook his head. He had figured that was coming. Not exactly what he'd had in mind when he'd sat down with the assassin to chat earlier. He turned to Sniper. "Do you want to fuck Doktor?" he asked, plainly.

Sniper was taken aback by Heavy's bluntness. "Heavy?"

"Did not stutter. Doktor wants me to fuck him. Is plain to see. I plan to do this. Do you want to join?"

The bushman shuffled a bit. Certainly this was he most formal and matter-of-fact invitation he'd ever had to a threesome. "Er, yes, I suppose. I mean, never been with a garuda before, or anyone of jotun blood, and you two are both lookers," he stumbled, taking off his hat and sunglasses.

"I do owe him for helping me with the faeries and taking me to Merasmus," Medic reasoned with a smile. "Sniper, undress and get over here! I will not wait all day while you get over your nerves! Heavy will only bite if you ask," he teased with a wicked grin.

Sniper did as he was told, watching as Heavy shucked his own gear rapidly and climbed atop Medic on his desk, lips and tongue exploring the smaller man, nibbling at his nipples, kissing up belly and chest and nosing into the fluffy hair there, finding the crook of his neck and sucking dark marks there between rings of teeth. Medic arched into Heavy's touch, against his body with gasps and breath already run ragged as he laid uncomfortably back atop the shoulders and upper arms of his wings. They bent around their bodies, wrapping loosely around Heavy atop him, shielding him in white feathers, a beautiful, lurid image somewhere between angelic and animalistic, and making Sniper yearn to join.

When he was finished undressing, he strode over, clad only in his ever-present wolf fang necklace and a smile. Medic looked up past Heavy to see him there, and after a rough kiss claimed his mouth, he panted out that Heavy needed to get up. The Russian obeyed reluctantly, climbing off of Medic, both men red-faced and beginning to sweat already. Passion didn't begin to describe it, and in his gut, Sniper suddenly very much missed Demoman, long passed out for the night after a particularly drunken day at work.

Medic panted a moment, his wings aching where he laid atop them, digging into the solid mahogany of his desk. With effort, he turned over, swinging his legs over to stand bent over the rear of his desk, presenting his bottom for Heavy and grinning up at Sniper. "Heavy, will you please?" he asked, looking over one shoulder.

"Da, moy golubchik," the big man nearly growled, opening a drawer and fishing out the lube the doctor kept there.

Sniper watched with interest, one hand coming down to pet at Medic's forearm, where the pinkish keratious corneum of his hand and wrist faded into downy white feathers. The feel of it made fires build within the bushman as Medic began to shiver and pant, Heavy's slick finger probing into him with practiced ease. Sniper's fingers danced along the doctor's feathered arm until finally coming to rest at his elbow, where down gave way to flesh. He pet at the spot where inhuman and human met, and watched Medic's face contort with pleasure as Heavy's fingers filled and stretched him.

The garuda's mouth gaped, his brows furrowed in shivering delight as he was opened wide by his half-giant lover. His eyes only half-closed, his thin third lid on each side blinking for him in stuttering flicks across and back. Sniper felt a growl well within him at the sight of the doctor's blue eyes obscured by the fleshy membrane, and carefully plucked his spectacles from his nose. "Still need these? Figured you'd be eagle-eyed," he teased, setting them aside.

Medic groaned around his words, his voice strained, "If only I were so lucky. Sort of a poor deal, but for wings I will overlook it." Heavy must've decided his doctor was talking too much, as his fingers hooked into Medic's prostate and sent the older man into a yowling moan, his wings spreading out then folding in tight against him, whole body going tense.

Sniper couldn't help but chuckle and take hold of his cock, hard and wanting for some time, and begin to stroke as he watched Heavy finish opening him up, Medic whining and panting through the whole affair.

The motion caught Medic's eyes, opening fully to gaze at the hard length before him, and the calloused hand slipping along it. He'd expected the bushman to be long and thin, much like the man himself, a bit surprised to find some decent girth to the assassin's rifle. He licked his lips and beckoned him closer, reaching out with black-nailed hands to grasp Sniper's slim, warm hips and draw him in. The bushman held himself level with Medic's mouth and tugged his foreskin back, allowing him to run his tongue along his shaft, licking up to circle the head, then tease along his frenulum before slowly wrapping his lips around the crown and taking him into his mouth.

Sniper groaned low, quiet, savoring Medic's moans against his flesh, the hot tongue laving over him, and the sudden gasp that parted them as Heavy replaced his fingers with his well-slicked cock, pushing into the eager doctor with a sigh. He and Sniper shared a look, and soon Medic found his mouth and ass both full, the two taller men thrusting into each orifice with slow, controlled movements, drawing moans from the garuda. He suckled hungrily at Sniper's cock, taking him deep in his mouth, just barely into his throat, saliva welling under his tongue as his breath puffed through the bushman's pubic hair in hot bursts.

A heavy breeze swirled around the three men as Medic flapped his wings about in a bid to keep his balance, the limbs stretched upward and shuddering a bit with stiffness as he arched into Heavy's thrusts, which grew faster and harder rapidly. The sounds of his beloved moaning around Sniper's cock, the sight of the Australian's hand resting atop Medic's head, the movement of the other man's hips and his soft, rough groans whipped Heavy into a frenzy. His doctor was beautiful, no more so than when in the throes of coitus, and watching him please another man did things to the Russian that he could never quite understand, but knew made him hungry, fierce, his groans a low rumble as he began to buck into Medic hard, slapping his hips against the smaller man's ass. As the German's throaty moans grew louder, his mouth working with more verve and drawing more gasping moans from Sniper, Heavy fucked harder. He ran his hands up the doctor's soft thighs, shod in dark hair, and rubbed his thumbs over the beautiful man's hips. Biting his lip, the giant reached forward, tickling along Medic's feathers, ruffling through them as he came to grip him by the upper arm of each wing, just above the elbow, and took hold.

Medic's reaction was immediate. He let out a loud groan around Sniper, his wings tensing under Heavy's grasp, flapping a bit at the wrist and spreading to their full span. How deliciously lurid, to be gripped by his wings and fucked by two men over his office desk! He slurped loudly, pulling Sniper closer and petting at his thighs, urging the taller man to buck into his throat.

The assassin gladly obliged, his hand sliding to the back of Medic's head as he began to thrust deep, feeling lips meet the root of his cock as he entered the doctor's throat, then pulled back, only to enter once more, hearing the muffled, gagging groans of the garuda before him, his knees growing weak as his eyes flicked from watching his own act to the giant across from him, railing the doctor with vigor at the sound of that eager choking, pounding Medic so hard Sniper had to think it would hurt, his enormous hands dwarfing the upper limbs of his snowy white wings.

He was full, so wonderfully full, throat constricting and undulating around Sniper, spit pooling in his mouth with nowhere to go. He gasped for breaths through his nose, that hard cock cutting off his airways with each ingress. Heavy was buried deep in his ass, pounding him for all he was worth, growling and grunting with the effort and making his cheeks sting with the force of his hips slapping against them. He ached, burned, stretched around his lover's girth, his insides swimming and roiling as the giant drove deep into him and forced what little air he could gain back out of him, setting fire to his spine and electric tension to all of his limbs. Medic grew light headed, chemicals rushing through his skull while he struggled for enough air, but dared not interrupt for such a trifle. He slurped loudly as Sniper pulled back, swallowing the saliva that was beginning to leak over his lips, the bushman's cock chasing it into his throat.

"Doktor, you are beautiful," Heavy murmured at the end of a harsh thrust that set Medic to practically howling, partially with disappointment after the long, hard punishment he'd endured as the giant slowed to a halt. "But do not want just this," he growled, giving Sniper a look.

The assassin didn't need to be told twice, pulling reluctantly from Medic's mouth and peeling away his hands to step away. He watched with interest as the garuda sagged, bereft of the intense stimulus he was enduring with such unadulterated glee.

"Heavy, why—aah!" Medic was hefted, mid-sentence, from his spot atop the desk, his enormous lover taking hold of him bodily and standing him aside. He hefted himself, hopping up to sit atop the desk, and beckoned Medic back over to him.

"Come, will be good. Face away from me," he soothed, taking Medic back into his arms and lifting him again, this time with the doctor's help. He pulled the smaller man into his lap, onto his cock, sliding in deep and leaning back to hold him close to his chest, forcing the doctor to hold his own legs aloft or pitch forward, out of balance. "Sniper, come. Help me fill Doktor," he growled, looking to the bushman with a wicked grin as he rounded the desk to come face to face with the panting garuda.

His eyes were half-lidded with his third lids, his breath coming heavy, his face cherry red. He looked a wreck already, and as Sniper slicked himself up with the lube sitting beside them on the desk, the doctor began to tremble, realizing what was to come next.

"Doc, you prepared for this?"

"As much as I shall ever be," he whined, wings splayed limply out on either side of him as Heavy bit gently at his neck, straining to keep his hips under control.

"Right, then," the bushman grunted, pressing himself against Heavy's length, against Medic's stretched hole, and, holding the base of his cock, pushed slowly inside. Christ, it was a tight fit.

Medic lost his breath, tremors rocking through his body as he struggled to adjust to the overlarge invasion, stretched wide, so wide, burning and aching and absolutely amazing as sparks prickled through his abdomen, an electrical fire burning in his gut as heat spread through him. He was sweating, and shivering, and full. So full. Completely full, near to bursting. When Sniper was fully sheathed within him, his cock along Heavy's a filthy caress within him, balls resting gently together, he finally found his voice again.

The bushman stalled, going still, trying to give Medic a chance to adjust as he pet at his shoulders and hair to soothe him. Heavy's hands gripped him behind his knees, feathers tickling his knuckles as he held his legs aloft and open wide, allowing his doctor to cling to the Sniper with hard, black nails digging into his shoulders and back. The bushman's hands strayed to Medic's wings and back, stroking where feathers met flesh, caressing the strong, avian limbs with worshipful care.

"Doktor?" Heavy whispered, nuzzling at his lover's ear. His breath was already ragged. Medic was so warm, so tight around his and Sniper's cocks, and the heat pouring off of the rangy Australian's length, squeezed against his own didn't help matters. He could feel the garuda clenching lightly around them, limp, moaning softly, and carefully adjusting to the intrusion.

"Heavy," Medic breathed, his head lolling back to lean against the giant Russian's fuzzy shoulder, his face red, his whole body quaking. "This is amazing."

The giant smiled and kissed his lover's cheek. "You are amazing, moy dorogoy. Are you alright?"

"Ja. Gott, ja. Bitte, I need it, fuck me," he rasped, lifting his head enough to blink at Sniper with his nictitating membranes, sending a chill through the bushman that spurred him to motion. Medic cried out, hoarse and wanton as his lovers obliged, bucking up into him in tandem, only to withdraw, and resume.

Heavy held Medic up by his thighs, lifting him off of the giant's hips to arch up into him with each careful lower, using his arms to thrust into the smaller man. Sniper's mouth fell to the exposed side of Medic's neck, nibbling beneath his ear as he began to rock into the doctor, meeting Heavy's thrusts, feeling the slick slide of their cocks within his body.

It was beyond anything that could make sense in words. The doctor's ability to speak, to think, drained away in the hot stretch of the two cocks filling him until he wasn't sure he could exist anymore, heat and ache and thick, viscous flows of pleasure washing over him in sticky molasses waves, making his body lurch and flounder in the surf of sensation. He clenched his eyes shut tight, his brows practically knitted together, mouth wide, jawing uselessly at the air. He could just lay there between them, clinging to Sniper because he couldn't remember how to move, breathing because it was all he had left, his taloned feet balled tight, his wings limp and laying over the sides of the desk like a white duvet half-kicked from a bed. They filled him and filled him and there was no more room left inside him, just the slippery drag of cock against cock within his well-used ass. It was perfection, and Medic could do nothing in the moment but be, because he could no longer do anything else.

Heavy mirrored Sniper, biting with calculated roughness at the other side of his doctor's neck, clamping his lips down and suckling marks into his skin. He cherished every hitched breath, every shudder of Medic's wings as they worked, thrusting with increasing speed, increasing force, reducing the German's high voice to a nonsense stream of babbled syllables.

Gritting his teeth, Sniper pressed his body to Medic's, the scratch of their chest and belly hair, matted down with sweat a barest sound under the three men and their groans of ardor. He bucked hard into Medic, matching Heavy's strokes, fucking him with abandon. He could feel his rough ankles rubbing his hips, his feathers against his sides and under the one hand that lingered at his wing, the other clutching his hip to hold himself steady. He was gorgeous, trembling and whimpering under the hungry assault of his lovers, hands twitching as they dug his hard nails into the bushman's back.

It didn't take long, with the friction of Sniper's body against his own, for Medic to tip over the edge. Like a shot, it ripped through him, making his whole body tense in one sudden jerk, his wings lifting and spreading to full span as he nearly screamed to the ceiling, sobbing as he came between himself and the rangy assassin, clenching and spasming hard around the men deep inside him.

Heavy and Sniper followed in rapid succession, the tight heat, the desperate, devastated cry of Medic bringing them down with him as they bucked against one another inside him. Sniper was the first to go, brought low by the rise of the garuda's wings and the way his eyes snapped open, lids first, membrane second, feathered legs clamping around him and rough, pseudo-avian hands clawing at him, that did him in. His groan caught in his throat, a bare growl as his voice hitched and rolled out along a gasp, filling Medic with heavy pulses, spurt after spurt until his balls nearly ached, dragged along for the ride by Heavy who hit moments after him, fucking Medic through his orgasm, which came quiet and breathy, a quiet groan that seemed almost delicate exiting the sweaty giant. Sniper could feel Heavy's cock throb against his as he, too, filled Medic with his seed, a sensation that brought another moan past his lips.

When they stilled, panting, gasping, gulping down air like water in the desert wastes, Medic went limp in their arms, wings fallen, legs useless, hands slipping from Sniper's back to flop to his sides. The taller men slowly, carefully disengaged, slipping out of Medic and dragging some of their come out with them, making it dribble down his ass cheek. He shivered and whimpered as they exited his body, leaving him feeling a yawning chasm rather than a man.

Heavy lifted Medic in his arms, princess-style, held carefully, mindful of his limp wings. "Doktor?" he panted, shifting to carefully stand up from the desk.

"Mein Heavy," the garuda sighed, smiling in his bliss-drunk desolation. "Sniper. Danke."

Heavy and Sniper shared a look and a grin, and the bushman laid a hand on the boneless mercenary's shoulder. "Our pleasure, Doc. You rest up, yeh? Got an early day tomorrow, like you said."

"Will be surprise to RED babies to find new monster on BLU team," Heavy chuckled, squeezing Medic's thigh lovingly.

"I suppose I will be able to learn whether or not I can fly, as well."

"I'd count on it," Sniper grinned. "After all, I'm not sure you'll be doin' much runnin' after all this."


End file.
